


Missing Meat and Migraines

by ShadowAndPurgatory



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Is this hurt/comfort, Octokittens - Freeform, Tim has a migraine, and decides to bug him, because his mechanism kinda fucks up sometimes, idk - Freeform, marius doesnt know this yet, rated teen for canon typical language, they are a very dysfunctional family, what the fuck of it, yes tim may be my favorite mechanism to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27946103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowAndPurgatory/pseuds/ShadowAndPurgatory
Summary: Tim has a headache. Not that Marius knows this when he goes to bother Tim. But hey, while he’s here, they might as well talk about what’s wrong.
Relationships: Marius von Raum & Gunpowder Tim
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	Missing Meat and Migraines

The door to the armory creaks open. 

“Tim?” 

Tim covers his eyes, which whir as they adjust to the slight change in light level. Why did Marius _have_ to open the door, the _lights_ are on out in the hall. 

“Tim, did you take the octokitten meat?”

Tim decides to hold his breath. Maybe if he does, Marius won’t find him. Maybe he’ll give up and leave to bother Ivy or Jonny or something. If he could only be so lucky. 

“Tim, this one is attached to my flesh arm so I think it needs to be fed something that isn’t me. Whatever is in it’s saliva has stopped hurting and now it’s just kinda tingly and numb.”

Why can’t Marius just go _away?_ Tim doesn’t have the fucking reconstituted octokitten meat, and if Marius is being eaten by one, then that’s his problem, not Tim’s. 

“Tim, I think that my arm is–”

 _“Fucking can it already,”_ Tim finally says through gritted teeth, rolling over to look down at Marius from on top of one of the stacks of boxes. 

“Tim!” Marius grins like a shark. “Tim I was wondering if you knew where the octokitten meat was, I couldn’t find it and I want this one to stop eating my arm.” He holds up his flesh arm to show Tim the dangling mass of tentacles and fur that has completely consumed up to his wrist. 

“Yes, I _heard,”_ Tim grumbles, face planting into the boxes. He has too much of a migraine for this. “You were _very_ loud about it.”

“So… where’s the meat?”

Really, it isn’t Marius’ fault that he’s being eaten by an octokitten at such a bad time, nor is he responsible for Tim’s migraine. It isn’t his fault that he hasn’t been a part of the crew long enough to know that when all the ration jerky disappears and Tim is nowhere to be found, it’s best to steer clear of the armory.

Unfortunately for Marius, even in his better moods, Tim doesn’t really give a fuck. Without lifting his head, he fumbles open one of the boxes and rummages around until his fingers close around a box. Based on the weight and the way it rattles, it’s probably full of bullets. He blindly lobs the box at where he’s pretty sure Marius’ voice was coming from. 

Marius makes a noise of surprise. “You missed.” There’s a pause. Maybe he’s gone. Maybe he’s gone away, very, very quietl– “You missed by quite a bit, actually. That never happens.”

Tim makes a sound of pained annoyance. “Fucking. Shoot Jonny or something and feed _him_ to the octokittens. I don’t care.”

Marius doesn’t respond, but Tim hears footsteps going towards the door. He hears the door shut, and sighs in relief. Alone again. 

Then he hears Marius ask “Tim, what’s going on?” and Tim feels the gunfire in his skull increase tenfold. 

“Ugh...” Tim groans, pressing his face more into the cardboard box. “Go a _way_ …”

He hears Marius doing something, and feels his box mountain wiggling. _Oh please say he isn’t_ –

“Well, I have absolutely no idea how to get back down, so… we might as well talk.” Marius’ voice sounds like it’s right next to him, and sure enough, when Tim shifts his head a little bit, he sees Marius hoisting himself up onto the boxes. 

“Mmmph,” is all Tim says in response. Then he goes back to trying to force the cardboard box to merge with his face. 

“Tim, what’s going on?” Marius asks again, and he sounds so genuinely concerned that, were he a different person, Tim might have felt inclined to talk. 

But he’s not. He’s Gunpowder Tim, he has a migraine, and Marius is here, opening doors and making noise and wanting him to _talk._ “Go ‘way.” Tim’s voice sounds too loud in his own brain. He wishes his ear plugs dampened his words at all. 

“I just told you. I can’t, I don’t know how.”

Tim considers shoving Marius off, but determines that it would take too much effort, make too much noise, and would risk destabilizing the whole structure. So instead, he grumbles “if you _have_ to be here, at least shut up.”

“Oh! Um, okay!” Marius says. “I can do th–”

_“Shush.”_

“Right, sorry.”

And then he stops talking for real. Tim _tries_ to go back to resting, but he can’t shake the awareness that he isn’t alone anymore. He can feel Marius’ monoggled gaze on him, hear the questions he isn’t asking. 

He feels one of his bags of ration jerky slowly being moved away, and he swats Marius’ hand, hissing at the twinge of pain in his hand from the solid metal. He finally lifts his head to look at the violinist. “If you touch my jerky again, I will bite your fucking hand off.”

Marius’ eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Wait, do you mean you’ll eat my mechanism hand, or the hand that’s being eaten by an octokitten?”

Tim glares at him. “Yes.” His head slumps forward again. He just wants to go to sleep. 

The two of them stay in silence for an indeterminate amount of time. Then Marius starts getting twitchy. He snaps his fingers and drums them on the boxes. The last straw is when he starts humming Tales to be Told. 

Tim lifts his head again. “Listen here, _‘baron.’”_ He doesn’t have the energy to do actual air quotes, but the derision in his tone makes them clear enough. “I have a _really_ bad migraine. I don’t even want you to _be_ here. But since you refuse to leave, and since I can’t make you because the sound of gunshots might actually make my head explode, I have allowed you to stay.”

Marius looks surprised. “Oh, I–”

“But!” Tim cuts him off, “that allowance is dependent on you being _silent._ So either shut up, or, preferably, _go. Away.”_

He glares at Marius, who looks… genuinely surprised and apologetic. “Tim, I’m sorry. I really didn’t know. I thought you were just being grumpy for no reason.”

Tim huffs out a sigh. “Listen. I get migraines like this every couple decades. Everyone _else_ knows to steer clear.” He isn’t sure how accusatory he actually intends his tone to be. 

Marius looks down guiltily. “I didn’t know.” There’s a pause that Tim has decided to assume will be short. Sure enough, after a short time, Marius asks “why do you get migraines, Tim?”

Tim sighs. “If I tell you, will you shut up?”

Marius nods. 

“Fine. Everyone before me got mechanised by Doctor Carmilla. Not me. _I_ got mechanised by Nastya, working off of the Doctor’s notes.” He puts his head down again. “For the most part, my eyes work fine, but… every now and then they shift out of alignment, or overheat in the back, or I don’t even _know_ what else. Some mechanical bullshit, I don’t know. Point is, I get a splitting headache.” He half shrugs. “It sucks.”

Marius is quiet for a long time. “Oh,” he finally says. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone now, if you’d like.”

Tim relaxes a bit. “That’d be _great.”_

He hears Marius fumble a bit as he struggles to get down. Hears him walk to the door, open it, and leave.

And Tim is alone at last. Again. He tries to relax, tries to fall asleep, tries to ignore the pain. 

And eventually, after a very long time, he does. It’s a fitful sleep, with upsetting dreams he can’t quite recall when he wakes up. When he does become aware of his surroundings again, he has a soft blanket draped over him. He doesn’t know for sure where it came from, nor is he 100% positive of who the large water bottle is from, but… maybe the ship’s doctor isn’t quite so thoughtless after all. 


End file.
